


Starcrossed Weekend

by katwalking



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 13:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14403459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katwalking/pseuds/katwalking
Summary: Claude and Sid renew their acquaintance at the 2018 All-Star Weekend.





	Starcrossed Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> The Penguins moved on to the 2nd round today.

"Maybe if I keep getting invited to the All-Star Game, they'll eventually put my name on the Welcome sign," Nate says, mouth quirked. He's leaning against the bar, beer bottle sweating beside his elbow. The Avalanche are having a remarkable bounce-back season. Sid can hardly listen to any hockey commentary without hearing about their resurgence, Nate's resurgence. Every time he gets a warm glow in his chest as if Nate's success by some obscure measure is his own. Sid opens his mouth to try to share the feeling, but Nate's moved on. He's looking over Sid's shoulder, blue eyes wide. "Hey, C. Marie," he says and Sid's heart skips several beats.

"Nate," Claude says. Sid swivels around on his bar stool to stare at her and she continues, "Crosby," voice light and mocking. She's cut her hair again, reddish-orange locks barely brushing the tops of her pointed ears.

"Giroux," Sid says. He shoots Nate a beseeching look. Help.

Nate, the traitor, picks up his beer and says, "Is that Best Kessel talking to Bergy?" He doesn't even look back as Claude slides into his vacant space.

Claude stares at Sid. Silent. The muscle in Sid's left calf is drawing tight. He flexes his ankle up and down, fights the urge to bounce his leg. Whatever Claude sees makes her eyebrows draw inward. Freckles are scattered over the bridge of her narrow nose, spilling onto her high cheekbones. Her thin lips are red, the contrast sharp against her pale skin. "Relax, Crosby," she says, "I hear we're friends now."

Worlds was a revelation. Going from "grin and bear it" in Giroux's presence to "actively seeking her out" had not been in Sid's game plan. He takes a giant swig of the beer he's been babysitting for the past hour. It's lukewarm. "Are we?"

She shrugs one bony shoulder. "If I were in the habit of making friends." Her gaze flicks away from him, out over the crowd. The VIP section is the usual mix of model types in tiny dresses and ugly men with too much money. "It must be nice," Claude says, "to get to spend some time with Fleury. Vegas is doing well."

Tanger and Flower are settled comfortably in a booth along the club's back wall. They'd been discussing children's movies and what makes a good elementary school when Sid abandoned them for Nate. "It's nice," Sid agrees. He finishes off his beer and signals the bartender for another.

Claude's watching his mouth, eyes darting between Sid's lips and his eyes. She glances up at him through pale, spiky lashes. "You do seem to love your French Canadians."

"I," Sid says. The rest of the sentence shrivels in his mouth as Claude leans in close and places a hand high up on his thigh. Her fingernails are cut short. Sid angles his body towards her and her hand slips up a little higher. He takes a deep breath.

"Yes?" Claude asks, brown eyes glittering. The bass-heavy music playing in the background throbs in Sid's ears.

He stands up.

**

"Fuck," Claude groans into Sid's ear and he doesn't know if the word's in French or English. He doesn't fucking care. All Sid cares about is getting his mouth on warm skin, getting his hands under Claude's shirt, getting Claude's skinny legs around his waist. 

He bites down on the tender flesh at the junction of her neck and shoulder and Claude's fingers clench in his hair. She's definitely speaking French now. He can barely understand the rapid flow of words from her mouth, but the tone is positive, encouraging.

Sid hitches Claude higher against the hotel door and she locks her legs around his back. The bed seems far away, but it's worth the effort to have her beneath him, rolling her hips up and clawing the shit out of his back. "Wait, wait," Sid says and rears back to pull his shirt over his head. Claude stops trying to pull him back down, expression clearing. She yanks her own t-shirt off and pops the front clasp of her simple black bra.

The urge to just stare is strong. Claude's definitely not going to win any wet t-shirt contests, breasts sunny side up with tiny pink nipples. Not even a handful, Sid discovers when he smooths his hands up her ribs. He brushes his thumbs over her nipples and she twitches. Sid smiles.

"Crosby," Claude warns and digs her fingers into his shoulders, "stop playing." She's loud. Not that Sid expected anything different. He likes hearing her curse him out when he tugs her nipple between his teeth, likes the way she moans when he suckles strongly at her. Fuck, he likes her.

"Sid, Sid," Claude gasps and he shudders. She yanks on his hair until he looks up at her, still firmly latched. "Get your dick out." She wiggles out of her leggings and panties while Sid strips down, brutally efficient. 

There's a bright orange shock of hair between her legs, cut neatly to point directly at her clit. Claude smirks when she catches him looking. "What? Some people need direction." Sid grabs her around the ankle and yanks her toward him across the bed. She yelps, arms flailing out.

"You got a condom?" Sid asks.

"What kind of girl do you think I am," Claude says and Sid's opening his mouth to apologize, when Claude continues, "Fuck yeah." She points to a bag sitting on the edge of the hotel room dresser.

Claude's staring at him with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth when he turns back around. Sid raises an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes. "You know what you look like." She makes grabby hands at him and Sid goes back to stand beside the bed, condoms in hand. Claude sits up to meet him.

"God, your thighs are massive." Claude runs her hands up the outside of Sid's thighs to his ass, smacks the curve lightly. She sighs happily and leans forward to nuzzle at the juncture of Sid's groin and thigh. "Don't get any ideas," she mumbles into his skin, "I don't suck dick for randoms."

Their names have been tied together for almost a decade now. Sid drops the condoms on the bed and cups the back of her head; her hair is soft, fine between his fingers. "I hardly think I qualify as a random."

She makes a noncommittal noise and sets her teeth into the thin skin covering his hip. Sid jerks and she pulls back, smiling. "I'll make that decision." She wraps her hand around the shaft of his dick and squeezes lightly. Sid's thighs tense and he braces as she starts to jack him, his toes curling into the rough hotel carpet. 

"Fuck," he says. Claude licks her lips, teasing, glancing between his dick and his face. Sid bets he looks dumb as hell, staring down at her, mouth open. 

"Look at this dick," Claude says, quietly, not even talking to him as she tugs on Sid's foreskin. "I knew you'd have a good dick." She looks up at him and smiles suddenly. "Bow-legged for a reason, huh?"

Yeah, okay. Sid reaches down and grabs her wrist. Claude pouts, petulant when he pulls her hand away from his body. She scoots back toward the middle of the bed, sprawling gracelessly. 

"Well?" Claude gives him an arch look. He wants to make her cry in the best way.

Sid settles between her legs and Claude puts greedy hands in his hair and rolls her hips up to meet his mouth. She likes broad strokes of his tongue, whimpers when he sucks on her clit. 

The muscles in Claude's thighs twitch wildly right before she starts to come, legs tight around Sid's head. Sid nurses gently at her until she pushes his head away. "Fuck," she says, hoarse.

He sits up on his knees and rolls on one of the condoms. Claude watches him through slitted eyes, deceptively passive. There's bruises dotted up and down her legs, one just above her right elbow. If Sid didn't know what she did for a living, he'd be spoiling for a fight, looking for a man, he'd better never know. 

As it is, he marvels at the strength of her. 

"What are you staring at?" Claude's eyebrows are pinching in over her nose.

Sid tells the truth, "You're beautiful." Pink races across the bridge of her nose. "I want you to sit on my dick." Still the truth.

Claude grins. "Charming," she says, but she's already moving. The skin of her stomach is smooth, unmarked, in contrast to the freckles on her chest and arms. She has a small birthmark on the thigh she slings over Sid's hips. 

There's a tiny frown of concentration on Claude's face as she slowly works herself down on his dick and fucking hell, she feels good. Warm and snug and unconcerned with Sid as she rocks her hips back and forth. Claude's lips quirk to one side as she leans forward to brace her hands against his chest. Sid suffers through her shifting around fitfully until her mouth drops open a little bit and she breathes out, "There."

Sid settles his hands at her waist. "I," he starts and Claude gives him a quelling look. Sid keeps his hips still.

"Good," Claude says and lifts herself up. 

No one would ever call Sid inexperienced. Sid's been famous since he was a teenager and there are certain opportunities that come with that sort of fame, but he's hard-pressed to remember a time when someone has infuriated him as much as Claude Marie Giroux-or intrigued him. 

"Please," Sid says and Claude braces against his chest and says, "Yes, yeah."

Being able to meet Claude's movements is the worst kind of relief in that it makes Sid hungrier. The slick sounds of their bodies moving together, the high-pitched moans falling from Claude's open mouth, everything. Everything about this moment, makes him want to sink his teeth into her, tie her to him in an entirely different way than the 2012 playoffs.

Although, he's sure she can hurt him just as much now.

Claude leans down to bite his bottom lip. "Tell me what you're thinking about."

Sid plants his feet in the bed, struggling for more leverage. "2012."

Claude pauses, pitched forward with just the head of Sid's dick still tucked inside. "2012," she says, slowly, "me beating your ass gets you hot?" She sinks back down slowly.

"You get me hot," Sid says and she grins, fierce.

"Damn right," she says and kisses him short and sweet before rolling over and pulling him on top.

"God," Sid says, dick sliding deep.

"Yeah," Claude says, eyes self-satisfied little slits in her face. Her hair is damp, darkened around her hairline. Sid pushes it off her forehead. "Keep going," Claude whispers. 

Sid kisses her smug, little mouth. "The game you played against Boston was incredible." Claude laughs into his mouth, then moans when Sid starts thrusting again. "The things," Sid says, "the things you do on the ice-"

"Shut up," Claude says, nails biting into his back. 

"I jerk off over the goals we scored together." Sid reaches down between their bodies to rub her clit. 

Claude's head tips back, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Sid keeps his fingers busy while he humps gracelessly between her legs, pleasure building with each erratic stroke. 

"Fuck," Sid grits out, "fuck." He fucks in deep one last time and shudders through his orgasm. "I'm going to, let me-" He pulls out and Claude gasps.

She's hot against his tongue, tastes like latex and friction. Sid muscles her legs over his shoulders and buries his face. He keeps going until she's pushing weakly against his forehead, spent.

His face is sticky; he wipes it off on the bedsheets. 

"Oh, my God," Claude says, faintly. 

"Good?" Sid says, in the middle of pulling off the condom. It looks fine, intact. 

Claude says, "Shut up," and rocks her hips from side to side. "Ugh," she says and crawls out of bed. 

Sid watches her until she shuts the bathroom door. He tosses the condom into the tiny trashcan by the bedside table and waits. 

"All yours," Claude says when she comes back out, still naked. She smacks Sid's ass on his way into the bathroom. 

Sid looks at himself in the mirror over the sink. He looks the same, big nose, crooked jaw, brown eyes. It's amazing how different he feels inside. "I slept with Claude Marie Giroux," he says and it sounds impossible, a fever dream. He wets a towel and wipes down, swishes his mouth with the tiny bottle of hotel mouthwash.

When he leaves the bathroom, Claude's stripped the bed and is talking to the concierge. "Yeah," she says, "new bedding." She winks at Sid when she catches him looking. Now she's wearing soft looking shorts and a stretched-out Flyers shirt that says "Simmonds" on the back. Sid swallows.

He waits until she puts the phone down to reach out and pull her in close. She wraps her arms around his neck while they kiss and says, "Mmm, minty," into his mouth. 

It's getting to the point where he's thinking about maybe a second round when she leans back and says, "I have to get up early in the morning."

They both have to get up early in the morning. "I guess I can't stay," Sid says, but he's already dropping his hands from her waist. His clothes are no longer scattered around the floor. She must have scooped them up while he was in the bathroom. 

She watches avidly while he gets dressed. Walks him to the door. He leans down to kiss her again. "Sure?" Sid asks against her mouth. 

"I'll see you in the morning," Claude says and pushes him gently out the door.

Sid stands outside for a moment before shaking his head and heading back toward his room.


End file.
